Meet Dan Olerwood
by Jeebus McChrist
Summary: Extra chapter for The Stand based on the happenings of Dan Olerwood duringafter the plague's outbreak.


Daniel Olerwood was usually a calm man, never taking anything to seriously, never panicking in situations. His friends always knew him to be sensible and thought filled, not the type of guy to scramble around in circles screaming at the sky if a rock suddenly fell through the ceiling.

Yes, a sensible man. A sensible man, of whom is now careening through the streets, screaming at the top of his lungs, eyes bulging with panic as he comes to the slow realization that everyone he ever knew is now dead. Gone.

_No longer alive. Dead. Gone. Kapeesh. Six feet under. But no one can bury them. No, no one is around to-_

"FUUUUUUUUUUCK." The sound of his voice filled the air, frightening Dan even more, as he had not heard the sound of a human for two days. The sound echoed through the buildings surrounding him, causing him to panic as he thought to himself-

_fuck is somebody there what somebody must be there hello hello is anybody there should I say some-_

He realized that it was his own voice. It didn't help much, because this brought back the thoughts that he was the last man on Earth.

_Last man not possible no not the last man that can't be possible I don't understand that stupid god damned_

Plague. The plague had wiped out the majority of the human population, leaving very few left. Of course, the thought of other people surviving hadn't yet occurred to Mr. Olerwood, as he was now bashing his head on a car, thinking to himself that he was, in fact, the last man alive.

But wait, he thought. If I'm the last man, that means I own everything. That means everything in that store, and that window, and that house, and everything here is mine.

He was filled with glee at this thought. The idea of having everything to himself filled him with a pleasure that he had since not known existed.

_I own everything. Everything here. It's all mine. Yes, mine._

A window split to pieces as he shoved a small piece of rotten fruit he had found on the ground crashing through it. Hopping in through the window, a grin on his face, Dan started gathering up everything in the store. The food section was all his, all the junk food he could ever want, all the Pringles, all the Doritos, all the Easy Cheez. His. He didn't have to pay for it, no, there was no one _to_ pay.

Through the night, he ate and ate and ate, scarfing down everything he could ever want, filling his crackers up to the brim with Easy Cheez, cramming Fritos in his mouth with as much bean dip as he could want. After a bit, he decided he would grab a couple of books and read them.

The next morning, as he awoke with a book on his lap, removing his head from it's annoyingly stiff position on that damned hard tile, he noticed a slight pain in his stomach. His eyes felt like they were bleeding or something, a fluid building up everywhere in his body.

Limping into the bathroom (as his legs didn't feel like moving too fast), he glanced into a mirror to discover he looked exactly as his wife did a few hours before she died. A scream emitted from his mouth, so loud and so piercing his throat started to be a fucking bitch, feeling dry as it could feel.

His legs gave under him as he collapsed to the floor, his weight becoming suddenly too much for him to handle. His head slammed onto the sink during his fall, breaking the fall on his ass, leaving an even worse imprint on his already massive headache that had been developing since he had first woken up.

As he lay there to die, he noticed as he went blind and the blood filled his eyes with so much pain and darkness he could hardly bear it, his last thoughts passed through his head.

_You know, Dan, you owned the world. That's right you, you, right there, you, with the blood, yes me, me, I owned the fucking world. All to me, no one else's._

_Unless people other than me survived too. FUCK._

His last thought was suddenly depressed from happiness, crushing his last chance of being half-joyous as he died. What if, in fact, he was not the last human alive, and some people survived the plague that had now taken him under his own blood to drown? There are always people that are impervious to a disease, and never will one single virus take the entire human race. He lay there, in his own pool of blood, his happiness slowly seething out of his head, his last blissful thought crushed from oblivion by those god damned survivors. Well, fuck that.

_I fucking hate survivors._


End file.
